So, maybe I haven’t been good exactly. And maybe I’m not exactly on the nice list. I tried though. I really did. This year, I’ve said some things that I regret, I’ve done some things I’m not entirely proud of. I have. And I’m not sure I’m not going to do and say those things again. I don’t know much anymore.

But I do know what Christmas is about. And it’s not really about Jesus, and it’s certainly not about presents. It’s about my family. Yes, that’s corny, cliche, whatever you like, but it’s true.

I love my family so much. I do. I sometimes think about what I’d do if one of them died, and even just thinking about it makes me fracture around the edges and cry. No, we don’t always get along. And no, I don’t always say nice things about them. But I love my Mommy and Daddyand Denise and Lizzy and Joseph and Chris and Michelle and Jen and Momal and Nana and Sockmouth. Everyone. They are what make Christmas.

Yesterday, I was writing my Christmas list and it was a struggle. As I get older, every year, writing a Christmas list seems more and more frivolous, fading into the warm archives of childhood. Because what I really want, more than a Kindle or embroidery floss or coconut deodorant, is for my family and friends to be happy and healthy. I want that more than anything that can be put on a Kaboodle list.

Santa, my family makes Christmas. I mean, you’re great. But they MAKE Christmas.

I don’t know if I deserve anything I put on my list, really, I don’t. I keep using my letters to you as New Year’s Resolution sort of things, but I’m not sure if I’ve been successful so far. I try, though. I’ll always try my best to not just get on the Nice list, but earn my place there.

Love you.

Merry Christmas, and give my regards to Mrs. Claus and the reindeer.

Best,

RJ

I’m thankful for:

My family

the fact that I love and get along with my siblings

My friends

Life!

The fact that I can choose what sort of life I want to lead

that I can walk

and see

and hear

and think.

That I see beauty

that I have a blog

that people listen

that my friends, family, and pets are healthy

that I am healthy

that I can bake

and read

and write

That I’m safe

and happy

and educated

and that I have a ton of clubs and activities

And FOOD!

But

overall

I’m thankful for

peace, love, and happiness.

For everyone.

Where ever it can be found.

Have a wonderful Thanksgiving, y’all.

I do.

But my nose is running and my throat is sore and my head aches and, despite an inordinate amount of sleep, I feel like I’m about to keel over.

So yeah.

Thanks for an awesome birthday celebration mommy, Denise, and Momal. I LOVE my gifts.

And jalapeno poppers. Delicious!

I’ll write in more depth when I can breathe through my phlegm.

Thanks.

I cried for my mommy and I wrote all through math about NO for my daddy.

I could write here for hours, let words fall into poetry, or stuff them into labored sentences to try and describe how I feel: recovering from a cold, with tears leaking from my eyes in joy. I could try to describe how I feel, how loved I feel. Because love is here, in this family, right now. It’s in Joe letting me sit up front in the car ride, no arguments. It’s in a friendly morning with Lizzy. It’s in “Happy Birthday, kid.” on my FB wall from Denise. It’s in triple-ginger cake for breakfast and lunch. Love is remembering New Orleans air, spiced and bitter like chicory coffee, thick with music and my father’s and my joy. Love is reflected off the surface of the opal mommy compared me to. But mommy, it’s you. It’s all of you. It’s my family that gives me color, that fills me with sparkle.

I love you, all of you. I can’t say enough, not if I read the dictionary and used every word, not if I wrote a poem every day, not if I could write a blog post to span the world. I can’t tell you how much I love you.

And mommy? Anything, Anywhere.

Thank you for 16 years. Thank you for the rest I know are to come.

My daddy has given me so many memories, beautiful memories, and more every day.

I remember nights of collecting lots of books and sitting down, eager to hear Daddy read me each one.

I remember trips, lots of trips, Incredible trips, from the snow-capped Whistler mountain to the heat of Tanzania.

I remember learning words, writing poems, making art with him.

I remember.

Anne and I were talking once, talking about how he would give and give and never take for himself. That was true. He’s generous and kind, almost to a fault. He’s the very best dad. The very best man. He deserves to have the very best out of life, every day.

I could go on forever, singing his praises until the leaves on the highest branches trembled with it.

But for now, I’ll watch 9 to 5 with him.

For now, I’ll make another memory.

Happy 41st, Daddy.

I love you.

I had one of those moments.

Love is…

when your mom transcribes physics problems into an email for you.

when Denise scans the graph for you.

when your dad offers to drive twenty minutes to get your book.

when your stepmother lets you not clean up after dinner so you can do said physics.

Thanks you all.

I love you.

No tampons are thrown

No pea soup, no spinning heads

Everything is sane.

When Denise is gone

The world is much crazier.

We need sanity!

So, I had decided: “Tonight, tonight I’m going to write it for sure! I have no physics to complain about now!”

But, I forgot what it was going to be about.

Three lessons to learn:

1. Don’t procrastinate

2. Write down ideas in idea journal, like I usually do, but sometimes dismiss as unnecessary.

3. LISTEN when Denise tells you not to complain about physics.